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Going into Society, by Charles Dickens
The Project Gutenberg eBook, Going into Society, by Charles Dickens
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Going into Society
Author: Charles Dickens Release Date: April 4, 2005 Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) [eBook #1422]
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOING INTO SOCIETY***
Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and Hall edition of “Christmas Stories” by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
GOING INTO SOCIETY
At one period of its reverses, the House fell into the occupation of a Showman. He was found registered as its occupier, on the parish books of the time when he rented the House, and there was therefore no need of any clue to his name. But, he himself was less easy to be found; for, he had led a wandering life, and settled people had lost sight of him, and people who plumed themselves on being respectable were shy of admitting that they had ever known anything of him. At last, among the marsh lands near the river’s level, that lie about Deptford and the neighbouring market-gardens, a Grizzled Personage in velveteen, with a face so cut up by varieties of weather that he looked as if he had been tattooed, was found smoking a pipe at the door of a wooden house on wheels. ...

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Going into Society, by Charles DickensThe Project Gutenberg eBook, Going into Society, by Charles DickensThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Going into SocietyAuthor: Charles DickensRelease Date: April 4, 2005 [eBook #1422]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOING INTO SOCIETY***Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and Hall edition of “Christmas Stories” byDavid Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.ukGOING INTO SOCIETYAt one period of its reverses, the House fell into the occupation of a Showman. He was found registered as its occupier, on the parish books of the time whenhe rented the House, and there was therefore no need of any clue to his name. But, he himself was less easy to be found; for, he had led a wandering life, andsettled people had lost sight of him, and people who plumed themselves onbeing respectable were shy of admitting that they had ever known anything ofhim. At last, among the marsh lands near the river’s level, that lie aboutDeptford and the neighbouring market-gardens, a Grizzled Personage invelveteen, with a face so cut up by varieties of weather that he looked as if hehad been tattooed, was found smoking a pipe at the door of a wooden houseon wheels. The wooden house was laid up in ordinary for the winter, near themouth of a muddy creek; and everything near it, the foggy river, the mistymarshes, and the steaming market-gardens, smoked in company with thegrizzled man. In the midst of this smoking party, the funnel-chimney of thewooden house on wheels was not remiss, but took its pipe with the rest in acompanionable manner.

On being asked if it were he who had once rented the House to Let, GrizzledVelveteen looked surprised, and said yes. Then his name was Magsman? That was it, Toby Magsman—which lawfully christened Robert; but called inthe line, from a infant, Toby. There was nothing agin Toby Magsman, hebelieved? If there was suspicion of such—mention it!There was no suspicion of such, he might rest assured. But, some inquirieswere making about that House, and would he object to say why he left it?Not at all; why should he? He left it, along of a Dwarf.Along of a Dwarf?Mr. Magsman repeated, deliberately and emphatically, Along of a Dwarf.Might it be compatible with Mr. Magsman’s inclination and convenience toenter, as a favour, into a few particulars?Mr. Magsman entered into the following particulars.It was a long time ago, to begin with;—afore lotteries and a deal more was doneaway with. Mr. Magsman was looking about for a good pitch, and he see thathouse, and he says to himself, “I’ll have you, if you’re to be had. If money’ll getyou, I’ll have you.”The neighbours cut up rough, and made complaints; but Mr. Magsman don’tknow what they would have had. It was a lovely thing. First of all, there wasthe canvass, representin the picter of the Giant, in Spanish trunks and a ruff,who was himself half the heighth of the house, and was run up with a line andpulley to a pole on the roof, so that his Ed was coeval with the parapet. Then,there was the canvass, representin the picter of the Albina lady, showing herwhite air to the Army and Navy in correct uniform. Then, there was thecanvass, representin the picter of the Wild Indian a scalpin a member of someforeign nation. Then, there was the canvass, representin the picter of a child ofa British Planter, seized by two Boa Constrictors—not that we never had nochild, nor no Constrictors neither. Similarly, there was the canvass, representinthe picter of the Wild Ass of the Prairies—not that we never had no wild asses,nor wouldn’t have had ’em at a gift. Last, there was the canvass, representinthe picter of the Dwarf, and like him too (considerin), with George the Fourth insuch a state of astonishment at him as His Majesty couldn’t with his utmostpoliteness and stoutness express. The front of the House was so covered withcanvasses, that there wasn’t a spark of daylight ever visible on that side. “MAGSMAN’S AMUSEMENTS,” fifteen foot long by two foot high, ran over thefront door and parlour winders. The passage was a Arbour of green baize andgardenstuff. A barrel-organ performed there unceasing. And as torespectability,—if threepence ain’t respectable, what is?But, the Dwarf is the principal article at present, and he was worth the money. He was wrote up as MAJOR TPSCHOFFKI, OF THE IMPERIALBULGRADERIAN BRIGADE. Nobody couldn’t pronounce the name, and itnever was intended anybody should. The public always turned it, as a regularrule, into Chopski. In the line he was called Chops; partly on that account, andpartly because his real name, if he ever had any real name (which was verydubious), was Stakes.He was a uncommon small man, he really was. Certainly not so small as hewas made out to be, but where is your Dwarf as is? He was a most uncommonsmall man, with a most uncommon large Ed; and what he had inside that Ed,nobody ever knowed but himself: even supposin himself to have ever tookstock of it, which it would have been a stiff job for even him to do.

The kindest little man as never growed! Spirited, but not proud. When hetravelled with the Spotted Baby—though he knowed himself to be a nat’ralDwarf, and knowed the Baby’s spots to be put upon him artificial, he nursedthat Baby like a mother. You never heerd him give a ill-name to a Giant. Hedid allow himself to break out into strong language respectin the Fat Lady fromNorfolk; but that was an affair of the ’art; and when a man’s ’art has been trifledwith by a lady, and the preference giv to a Indian, he ain’t master of his actions.He was always in love, of course; every human nat’ral phenomenon is. And hewas always in love with a large woman; I never knowed the Dwarf as could begot to love a small one. Which helps to keep ’em the Curiosities they are.One sing’ler idea he had in that Ed of his, which must have meant something,or it wouldn’t have been there. It was always his opinion that he was entitled toproperty. He never would put his name to anything. He had been taught towrite, by the young man without arms, who got his living with his toes (quite awriting master he was, and taught scores in the line), but Chops would havestarved to death, afore he’d have gained a bit of bread by putting his hand to apaper. This is the more curious to bear in mind, because HE had no property,nor hope of property, except his house and a sarser. When I say his house, Imean the box, painted and got up outside like a reg’lar six-roomer, that he usedto creep into, with a diamond ring (or quite as good to look at) on his forefinger,and ring a little bell out of what the Public believed to be the Drawing-roomwinder. And when I say a sarser, I mean a Chaney sarser in which he made acollection for himself at the end of every Entertainment. His cue for that, he tookfrom me: “Ladies and gentlemen, the little man will now walk three times roundthe Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain.” When he said anything important,in private life, he mostly wound it up with this form of words, and they wasgenerally the last thing he said to me at night afore he went to bed.He had what I consider a fine mind—a poetic mind. His ideas respectin hisproperty never come upon him so strong as when he sat upon a barrel-organand had the handle turned. Arter the wibration had run through him a little time,he would screech out, “Toby, I feel my property coming—grind away! I’mcounting my guineas by thousands, Toby—grind away! Toby, I shall be a manof fortun! I feel the Mint a jingling in me, Toby, and I’m swelling out into theBank of England!” Such is the influence of music on a poetic mind. Not that hewas partial to any other music but a barrel-organ; on the contrary, hated it.He had a kind of a everlasting grudge agin the Public: which is a thing you maynotice in many phenomenons that get their living out of it. What riled him mostin the nater of his occupation was, that it kep him out of Society. He wascontiniwally saying, “Toby, my ambition is, to go into Society. The curse of myposition towards the Public is, that it keeps me hout of Society. This don’tsignify to a low beast of a Indian; he an’t formed for Society. This don’t signifyto a Spotted Baby; he an’t formed for Society.—I am.”Nobody never could make out what Chops done with his money. He had agood salary, down on the drum every Saturday as the day came round, besideshaving the run of his teeth—and he was a Woodpecker to eat—but all Dwarfsare. The sarser was a little income, bringing him in so many halfpence thathe’d carry ’em for a week together, tied up in a pocket-handkercher. And yet henever had money. And it couldn’t be the Fat Lady from Norfolk, as was oncesupposed; because it stands to reason that when you have a animosity towardsa Indian, which makes you grind your teeth at him to his face, and which canhardly hold you from Goosing him audible when he’s going through his War-Dance—it stands to reason you wouldn’t under them circumstances deprive

yourself, to support that Indian in the lap of luxury.Most unexpected, the mystery come out one day at Egham Races. The Publicwas shy of bein pulled in, and Chops was ringin his little bell out of his drawing-room winder, and was snarlin to me over his shoulder as he kneeled down withhis legs out at the back-door—for he couldn’t be shoved into his house withoutkneeling down, and the premises wouldn’t accommodate his legs—wassnarlin, “Here’s a precious Public for you; why the Devil don’t they tumble up?”when a man in the crowd holds up a carrier-pigeon, and cries out, “If there’s anyperson here as has got a ticket, the Lottery’s just drawed, and the number ashas come up for the great prize is three, seven, forty-two! Three, seven, forty-two!” I was givin the man to the Furies myself, for calling off the Public’sattention—for the Public will turn away, at any time, to look at anything inpreference to the thing showed ’em; and if you doubt it, get ’em together for anyindiwidual purpose on the face of the earth, and send only two people in late,and see if the whole company an’t far more interested in takin particular noticeof them two than of you—I say, I wasn’t best pleased with the man for callin out,and wasn’t blessin him in my own mind, when I see Chops’s little bell fly out ofwinder at a old lady, and he gets up and kicks his box over, exposin the wholesecret, and he catches hold of the calves of my legs and he says to me, “Carryme into the wan, Toby, and throw a pail of water over me or I’m a dead man, forI’ve come into my property!”Twelve thousand odd hundred pound, was Chops’s winnins. He had bought ahalf-ticket for the twenty-five thousand prize, and it had come up. The first usehe made of his property, was, to offer to fight the Wild Indian for five hundredpound a side, him with a poisoned darnin-needle and the Indian with a club; butthe Indian being in want of backers to that amount, it went no further.Arter he had been mad for a week—in a state of mind, in short, in which, if I hadlet him sit on the organ for only two minutes, I believe he would have bust—butwe kep the organ from him—Mr. Chops come round, and behaved liberal andbeautiful to all. He then sent for a young man he knowed, as had a werygenteel appearance and was a Bonnet at a gaming-booth (most respectablebrought up, father havin been imminent in the livery stable line but unfort’nate ina commercial crisis, through paintin a old gray, ginger-bay, and sellin him witha Pedigree), and Mr. Chops said to this Bonnet, who said his name wasNormandy, which it wasn’t:“Normandy, I’m a goin into Society. Will you go with me?”Says Normandy: “Do I understand you, Mr. Chops, to hintimate that the ’ole ofthe expenses of that move will be borne by yourself?”“Correct,” says Mr. Chops. “And you shall have a Princely allowance too.”The Bonnet lifted Mr. Chops upon a chair, to shake hands with him, and repliedin poetry, with his eyes seemingly full of tears:“My boat is on the shore,And my bark is on the sea,And I do not ask for more,But I’ll Go:—along with thee.”They went into Society, in a chay and four grays with silk jackets. They tooklodgings in Pall Mall, London, and they blazed away.In consequence of a note that was brought to Bartlemy Fair in the autumn ofnext year by a servant, most wonderful got up in milk-white cords and tops, I

cleaned myself and went to Pall Mall, one evening appinted. The gentlemenwas at their wine arter dinner, and Mr. Chops’s eyes was more fixed in that Edof his than I thought good for him. There was three of ’em (in company, I mean),and I knowed the third well. When last met, he had on a white Roman shirt,and a bishop’s mitre covered with leopard-skin, and played the clarionet allwrong, in a band at a Wild Beast Show.This gent took on not to know me, and Mr. Chops said: “Gentlemen, this is a oldfriend of former days:” and Normandy looked at me through a eye-glass, andsaid, “Magsman, glad to see you!”—which I’ll take my oath he wasn’t. Mr.Chops, to git him convenient to the table, had his chair on a throne (much of theform of George the Fourth’s in the canvass), but he hardly appeared to me to beKing there in any other pint of view, for his two gentlemen ordered about likeEmperors. They was all dressed like May-Day—gorgeous!—And as to Wine,they swam in all sorts.I made the round of the bottles, first separate (to say I had done it), and thenmixed ’em all together (to say I had done it), and then tried two of ’em as half-and-half, and then t’other two. Altogether, I passed a pleasin evenin, but with atendency to feel muddled, until I considered it good manners to get up and say,“Mr. Chops, the best of friends must part, I thank you for the wariety of foreigndrains you have stood so ’ansome, I looks towards you in red wine, and I takesmy leave.” Mr. Chops replied, “If you’ll just hitch me out of this over your rightarm, Magsman, and carry me down-stairs, I’ll see you out.” I said I couldn’tthink of such a thing, but he would have it, so I lifted him off his throne. Hesmelt strong of Maideary, and I couldn’t help thinking as I carried him down thatit was like carrying a large bottle full of wine, with a rayther ugly stopper, a gooddeal out of proportion.When I set him on the door-mat in the hall, he kep me close to him by holdingon to my coat-collar, and he whispers:“I ain’t ’appy, Magsman.”“What’s on your mind, Mr. Chops?”“They don’t use me well. They an’t grateful to me. They puts me on the mantel-piece when I won’t have in more Champagne-wine, and they locks me in thesideboard when I won’t give up my property.”“Get rid of ’em, Mr. Chops.”“I can’t. We’re in Society together, and what would Society say?”“Come out of Society!” says I.“I can’t. You don’t know what you’re talking about. When you have once goneinto Society, you mustn’t come out of it.”“Then if you’ll excuse the freedom, Mr. Chops,” were my remark, shaking myhead grave, “I think it’s a pity you ever went in.”Mr. Chops shook that deep Ed of his, to a surprisin extent, and slapped it half adozen times with his hand, and with more Wice than I thought were in him. Then, he says, “You’re a good fellow, but you don’t understand. Good-night, goalong. Magsman, the little man will now walk three times round the Cairawan,and retire behind the curtain.” The last I see of him on that occasion was histryin, on the extremest werge of insensibility, to climb up the stairs, one by one,with his hands and knees. They’d have been much too steep for him, if he hadbeen sober; but he wouldn’t be helped.

It warn’t long after that, that I read in the newspaper of Mr. Chops’s beingpresented at court. It was printed, “It will be recollected”—and I’ve noticed inmy life, that it is sure to be printed that it will be recollected, whenever it won’t—“that Mr. Chops is the individual of small stature, whose brilliant success inthe last State Lottery attracted so much attention.” Well, I says to myself, Suchis Life! He has been and done it in earnest at last. He has astonished Georgethe Fourth!(On account of which, I had that canvass new-painted, him with a bag of moneyin his hand, a presentin it to George the Fourth, and a lady in Ostrich Feathersfallin in love with him in a bag-wig, sword, and buckles correct.)I took the House as is the subject of present inquiries—though not the honour ofbein acquainted—and I run Magsman’s Amusements in it thirteen months—sometimes one thing, sometimes another, sometimes nothin particular, butalways all the canvasses outside. One night, when we had played the lastcompany out, which was a shy company, through its raining Heavens hard, Iwas takin a pipe in the one pair back along with the young man with the toes,which I had taken on for a month (though he never drawed—except on paper),and I heard a kickin at the street door. “Halloa!” I says to the young man,“what’s up!” He rubs his eyebrows with his toes, and he says, “I can’t imagine,Mr. Magsman”—which he never could imagine nothin, and was monotonouscompany.The noise not leavin off, I laid down my pipe, and I took up a candle, and I wentdown and opened the door. I looked out into the street; but nothin could I see,and nothin was I aware of, until I turned round quick, because some creetur runbetween my legs into the passage. There was Mr. Chops!“Magsman,” he says, “take me, on the old terms, and you’ve got me; if it’s done,say done!”I was all of a maze, but I said, “Done, sir.”“Done to your done, and double done!” says he. “Have you got a bit of supperin the house?”Bearin in mind them sparklin warieties of foreign drains as we’d guzzled awayat in Pall Mall, I was ashamed to offer him cold sassages and gin-and-water;but he took ’em both and took ’em free; havin a chair for his table, and sittindown at it on a stool, like hold times. I, all of a maze all the while.It was arter he had made a clean sweep of the sassages (beef, and to the bestof my calculations two pound and a quarter), that the wisdom as was in thatlittle man began to come out of him like prespiration.“Magsman,” he says, “look upon me! You see afore you, One as has both goneinto Society and come out.”“O! You are out of it, Mr. Chops? How did you get out, sir?”“SOLD OUT!” says he. You never saw the like of the wisdom as his Edexpressed, when he made use of them two words.“My friend Magsman, I’ll impart to you a discovery I’ve made. It’s wallable; it’scost twelve thousand five hundred pound; it may do you good in life—Thesecret of this matter is, that it ain’t so much that a person goes into Society, asthat Society goes into a person.”Not exactly keepin up with his meanin, I shook my head, put on a deep look,and said, “You’re right there, Mr. Chops.”

“Magsman,” he says, twitchin me by the leg, “Society has gone into me, to thetune of every penny of my property.”I felt that I went pale, and though nat’rally a bold speaker, I couldn’t hardly say,“Where’s Normandy?”“Bolted. With the plate,” said Mr. Chops.“And t’other one?” meaning him as formerly wore the bishop’s mitre.“Bolted. With the jewels,” said Mr. Chops.I sat down and looked at him, and he stood up and looked at me.“Magsman,” he says, and he seemed to myself to get wiser as he got hoarser;“Society, taken in the lump, is all dwarfs. At the court of St. James’s, they wasall a doing my old business—all a goin three times round the Cairawan, in thehold court-suits and properties. Elsewheres, they was most of ’em ringin theirlittle bells out of make-believes. Everywheres, the sarser was a goin round. Magsman, the sarser is the uniwersal Institution!”I perceived, you understand, that he was soured by his misfortunes, and I felt forMr. Chops.“As to Fat Ladies,” he says, giving his head a tremendious one agin the wall,“there’s lots of them in Society, and worse than the original. Hers was aoutrage upon Taste—simply a outrage upon Taste—awakenin contempt—carryin its own punishment in the form of a Indian.” Here he giv himself anothertremendious one. “But theirs, Magsman, theirs is mercenary outrages. Lay inCashmeer shawls, buy bracelets, strew ’em and a lot of ’andsome fans andthings about your rooms, let it be known that you give away like water to all ascome to admire, and the Fat Ladies that don’t exhibit for so much down uponthe drum, will come from all the pints of the compass to flock about you,whatever you are. They’ll drill holes in your ’art, Magsman, like a Cullender. And when you’ve no more left to give, they’ll laugh at you to your face, andleave you to have your bones picked dry by Wulturs, like the dead Wild Ass ofthe Prairies that you deserve to be!” Here he giv himself the most tremendiousone of all, and dropped.I thought he was gone. His Ed was so heavy, and he knocked it so hard, andhe fell so stoney, and the sassagerial disturbance in him must have been soimmense, that I thought he was gone. But, he soon come round with care, andhe sat up on the floor, and he said to me, with wisdom comin out of his eyes, ifever it come:“Magsman! The most material difference between the two states of existencethrough which your unhappy friend has passed;” he reached out his poor littlehand, and his tears dropped down on the moustachio which it was a credit tohim to have done his best to grow, but it is not in mortals to command success,—“the difference this. When I was out of Society, I was paid light for beingseen. When I went into Society, I paid heavy for being seen. I prefer theformer, even if I wasn’t forced upon it. Give me out through the trumpet, in thehold way, to-morrow.”Arter that, he slid into the line again as easy as if he had been iled all over. Butthe organ was kep from him, and no allusions was ever made, when acompany was in, to his property. He got wiser every day; his views of Societyand the Public was luminous, bewilderin, awful; and his Ed got bigger andbigger as his Wisdom expanded it.

He took well, and pulled ’em in most excellent for nine weeks. At the expirationof that period, when his Ed was a sight, he expressed one evenin, the lastCompany havin been turned out, and the door shut, a wish to have a littlemusic.“Mr. Chops,” I said (I never dropped the “Mr.” with him; the world might do it, butnot me); “Mr. Chops, are you sure as you are in a state of mind and body to situpon the organ?”His answer was this: “Toby, when next met with on the tramp, I forgive her andthe Indian. And I am.”It was with fear and trembling that I began to turn the handle; but he sat like alamb. I will be my belief to my dying day, that I see his Ed expand as he sat;you may therefore judge how great his thoughts was. He sat out all thechanges, and then he come off.“Toby,” he says, with a quiet smile, “the little man will now walk three timesround the Cairawan, and retire behind the curtain.”When we called him in the morning, we found him gone into a much betterSociety than mine or Pall Mall’s. I giv Mr. Chops as comfortable a funeral aslay in my power, followed myself as Chief, and had the George the Fourthcanvass carried first, in the form of a banner. But, the House was so dismalarterwards, that I giv it up, and took to the Wan again.* * * * *“I don’t triumph,” said Jarber, folding up the second manuscript, and lookinghard at Trottle. “I don’t triumph over this worthy creature. I merely ask him if heis satisfied now?”“How can he be anything else?” I said, answering for Trottle, who satobstinately silent. “This time, Jarber, you have not only read us a delightfullyamusing story, but you have also answered the question about the House. Ofcourse it stands empty now. Who would think of taking it after it had beenturned into a caravan?” I looked at Trottle, as I said those last words, andJarber waved his hand indulgently in the same direction.“Let this excellent person speak,” said Jarber. “You were about to say, my goodman?”—“I only wished to ask, sir,” said Trottle doggedly, “if you could kindly oblige mewith a date or two in connection with that last story?”“A date!” repeated Jarber. “What does the man want with dates!”“I should be glad to know, with great respect,” persisted Trottle, “if the personnamed Magsman was the last tenant who lived in the House. It’s my opinion—if I may be excused for giving it—that he most decidedly was not.”With those words, Trottle made a low bow, and quietly left the room.There is no denying that Jarber, when we were left together, looked sadlydiscomposed. He had evidently forgotten to inquire about dates; and, in spiteof his magnificent talk about his series of discoveries, it was quite as plain thatthe two stories he had just read, had really and truly exhausted his presentstock. I thought myself bound, in common gratitude, to help him out of hisembarrassment by a timely suggestion. So I proposed that he should come totea again, on the next Monday evening, the thirteenth, and should make suchinquiries in the meantime, as might enable him to dispose triumphantly of

Trottle’s objection.He gallantly kissed my hand, made a neat little speech of acknowledgment,and took his leave. For the rest of the week I would not encourage Trottle byallowing him to refer to the House at all. I suspected he was making his owninquiries about dates, but I put no questions to him.On Monday evening, the thirteenth, that dear unfortunate Jarber came, punctualto the appointed time. He looked so terribly harassed, that he was really quite aspectacle of feebleness and fatigue. I saw, at a glance, that the question ofdates had gone against him, that Mr. Magsman had not been the last tenant ofthe House, and that the reason of its emptiness was still to seek.“What I have gone through,” said Jarber, “words are not eloquent enough totell. O Sophonisba, I have begun another series of discoveries! Accept the lasttwo as stories laid on your shrine; and wait to blame me for leaving yourcuriosity unappeased, until you have heard Number Three.”Number Three looked like a very short manuscript, and I said as much. Jarberexplained to me that we were to have some poetry this time. In the course ofhis investigations he had stepped into the Circulating Library, to seek forinformation on the one important subject. All the Library-people knew about theHouse was, that a female relative of the last tenant, as they believed, had, justafter that tenant left, sent a little manuscript poem to them which she describedas referring to events that had actually passed in the House; and which shewanted the proprietor of the Library to publish. She had written no address onher letter; and the proprietor had kept the manuscript ready to be given back toher (the publishing of poems not being in his line) when she might call for it. She had never called for it; and the poem had been lent to Jarber, at hisexpress request, to read to me.Before he began, I rang the bell for Trottle; being determined to have himpresent at the new reading, as a wholesome check on his obstinacy. To mysurprise Peggy answered the bell, and told me, that Trottle had stepped outwithout saying where. I instantly felt the strongest possible conviction that hewas at his old tricks: and that his stepping out in the evening, without leave,meant—Philandering.Controlling myself on my visitor’s account, I dismissed Peggy, stifled myindignation, and prepared, as politely as might be, to listen to Jarber.***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOING INTO SOCIETY******** This file should be named 1422-h.htm or 1422-h.zip******This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/2/1422Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editionswill be renamed.Creating the works from public domain print editions means that noone owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States withoutpermission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply tocopying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to

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